In the Light of Day
by JamesLuver
Summary: John Bates had never felt so wonderfully fatigued in his whole life.


**A/N:** April is a very special month to me for several reasons, both personal and fandom-related. One of the main ones is that the tenth of April marks the date that I first joined this site. I have now had this account for ten years, which is kind of scary. Five of those years has been in this wonderful fandom, and I just want to say thank you for all of the support you've given me over that time!

This was based on the following OTP Prompts post: _Imagine your OTP waking up together after the night they had sex for the first time. Person B...is sore, and Person A becomes concerned, asking if they're okay. Person B insists that they're fine, but Person A continues to watch them fretfully throughout the day, making sure they're all right._

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own _Downton Abbey_.

* * *

 _In the Light of Day_

John Bates had never felt so wonderfully fatigued in his whole life.

In the army and in prison, it had been a different kind of tiredness. It was a tiredness that seeped into the bones. It was a tiredness that tricked the mind into thinking that it had never fallen asleep in the first place, for it always had to be alert for the slightest sound that might indicate an enemy sneaking up on the camp, or a fellow prisoner who was biding their time to drag unsuspecting souls into a dark corner to deliver a solid beating for a disagreement. For so many years, John had almost felt like he was sleeping with one eye open, never far below the surface of sleep. He heard every shuffle in the men's corridor. Every whispered word woke him as if it had been yelled right in his ear.

Now…now he felt as if he could sink quite happily beneath the waves of sleep and float on them until it was time to rise for another day that had to be treated the same as any other.

But there was far too much novelty about this situation for him to reasonably let go. He could not let one single moment of this night pass him by.

He was lying in bed beside Anna. His _wife_.

His eyes itched with fatigue, the sputtering of the candle's last moments doing nothing to help. It had to be the very dead of night. It was only a few minutes previous that Anna had succumbed to her own fight against sleep. She too had wanted to stay awake all night, had wanted to savour every aspect of it. He knew that she would probably be cross with him for not waking her, but she looked far too peaceful for him to disturb her. Besides, he liked that he had the secret knowledge of what she looked like in slumber. It was an image that he would lock away in his heart to re-examine on the lonely nights that stretched in front of them. One day soon, he hoped, they would have a home of their own. But it would take a little time to organise, especially since they hadn't given anyone any indication that they would be getting married, and so until then they would be forced back into their separate quarters. He had to make as much of this night as he possibly could.

She had fallen asleep facing him, mid-conversation. Her words had become sleep-slurred the longer that she tried to keep it going, never quite making sense, before they had petered out completely, her heavy lids not fluttering back open.

He had never seen a more beautiful sight.

Her hair fell in a thick curtain around her, mussed by his eager hands. It was like silk to the touch. He resisted the urge to run his fingers through it again now. Her face was pleasingly pink because of the warmth of the room, her dark lashes laying prettily against her face. Her mouth was marginally open; her front teeth touched her bottom lip just slightly, her breaths deep and slow as they issued from within. She had one hand beneath her pillow to cushion her head. The other had fallen from its place on his hip to the mattress between them.

She was so very, very perfect.

He remained lying there, quietly drinking in the sight of her, the events of the day playing in his head like a film reel. It still didn't seem like it had happened, that he had pledged his life and love to the woman sharing this bed. He could remember each detail in vivid, intimate detail, but there was something surreal about them, as if he was peering into someone else's life. He was afraid that if he closed his eyes now, he would waken to one of the hall boys pounding on the door, leaving this night to dissolve into another dream that would never be.

Very, very slowly, he reached out with his right hand and found Anna's left, the one that had fallen away from him. She hadn't replaced her wedding ring for this night, a little worried that she would forget about it and give them away in the morning, and he traced his thumb over the place where the ring should sit. He couldn't wait until he could see it there for himself, glistening as it caught the light, the physical reminder that she was his wife. Next week, he told himself. They'd get poor Miss Swire's funeral out of the way and wait a few days until everything had settled again, and then they would make their announcement. He was still worried that the police hadn't finished with him, but Anna was right. They had a status now. She could not be pushed out. Whatever happened, she would be involved. And even if it was still hanging over their heads like a black cloud, they could still try and push through it and start to build the life that they had always wanted together.

He pushed the thoughts of the police away. He would not dwell on that, not just yet. Not when he had Anna by his side and he was so deliriously happy. He had never known a feeling like it, and he would not spoil it. Anna had already chided him on bringing those thoughts into the marital bed. Well, no more. Tonight was about the two of them, and the way that they felt about each other.

John edged nearer to her, until he was almost nose-to-nose with her on the same pillow. He let his gaze rove hungrily over her face. She had the faintest dusting of freckles across her nose, so light that they were only visible this close up to her, and he had the urge to kiss each one. The faint scar next to her eye was about as big as his fingertip, and he longed to touch it, to trace it and tell her that he loved it, as she had told him that she loved each of the scars on his own tired and battered old body. His eyes were drawn to her lips, parted as they were in her slumber, and the plumpness of her lower one filled him with the overwhelming urge to run his tongue along it and taste her anew. She was an addiction that he knew he would never be able to overcome. Nor did he want to. She was the only thing that kept him alive.

A strand of hair had curled and fallen into her face during their passion, and this he could not resist. Carefully, he brushed it away, moving it behind her ear and lingering for just a second as he feasted on her.

A second too long.

Anna began to stir, her eyelids fluttering as she blinked them open. They were unfocused for a moment, but then burst with sleepy clarity. He dropped his hand away from her at once, cursing his stupidity, but Anna did not look at all displeased. She stretched out beneath the sheets like a cat, lazy in the warmth, and said with soft accusation, "You let me sleep."

"I know," he said, scooting closer now that the damage was done.

"You shouldn't have done."

"I know."

He couldn't say anything else for several minutes, because Anna hitched herself closer to him and he found that his mouth was rather preoccupied with hers. He loved how eager she was to kiss him and touch him, how much passion there was in each and every little thing that she did. He had always sensed it in the past, the barely restrained yearning to push for more, but they had been strong for the sake of what they had. It had never been his intention to compromise her honour, and she had always respected that, thank God, for he wasn't sure how long he would have been able to hold on to his maxims if she had pushed him.

Now it didn't matter. Because he no longer had to show restraint. They were man and wife, and man and wife could do what they wanted.

It was an idea that Anna was very much on board with, if the position of her hand was anything to go on. Sucking in a sharp breath, he reached down and caught her wrist.

"You don't have to," he croaked.

She giggled, as if he had told her the funniest joke she had ever heard. "I know I don't have to. I _want_ to. _Please_ start getting that concept into your head, Mr. Bates." She lowered her voice to a tone of sensual silk. "I've wanted to for a very long time. I wouldn't have kept offering to be your mistress if I didn't want everything that a married life entailed."

John swallowed hard. Well, she might have a point there. It still boggled his mind that she had made those offers in the first place, head held high, gaze never wavering from his. The idea that she _wanted_ him, craved that side of things with someone like him, was something that he would never get his mind wrapped around.

She closed the gap between them once more, her lips soft and searching, and he simply melted into her. There was some awkward shuffling as they fit themselves together once more, and then he was lost, in the weight of her body so thick against his own and the weight of what she made him feel; in the slick press of her flesh; in the hot whispers that she pressed into his skin; in the soft sounds of pleasure she made as she found a rhythm that suited.

His whole world narrowed to the size of their bed and the reality of them being bound forever in the eyes of the law, no matter what was to come in the future.

* * *

Five o'clock came around too soon.

Feeling a happy tiredness beyond anything he had ever known before, John rolled onto his back, staring up at the dark ceiling. Anna followed him, draping herself across his chest, her ear tight to his heart. For ten minutes, he lay with her like that, drifting right on the fringes of dreamy sleep, relishing the press of her heavy, naked weight against him while her breathing slowed and evened out.

And then the tranquillity of the moment was shattered. It was time to return to reality.

With more reluctance and loathing than he had felt towards any task in his whole life, John nudged himself against her, taking a moment to breathe in the scent of her hair. Anna stirred, shifting the position of her head just slightly so that she could see into his eyes. Hers were filmy with fatigue again, and he was sure that if he didn't move her now, she would fall back into the clutches of slumber quite without meaning to. It was a very tempting caveat, but he had to be sensible. They couldn't be found up here in this guest bedroom, naked and sated. They had to get back to their own rooms before anyone was any the wiser.

"Love," he whispered, brushing his lips against her hairline. "Love, we're going to have to get up now."

She whined in the back of her throat, pushing closer. "I don't want to."

"Believe me, neither do I. But we have to. We've got a charade to carry on. In a few days it will all be over, and we'll never have to pretend again. We can tell the world that we're each other's. But until then we have to play our parts. Please, love."

She gave a profound sigh, but eventually sat up, keeping the quilt tight around her breasts—amusing, since he had scrutinised them in very fine detail several times over during the course of the night—her eyes heavy-lidded and her hair tousled. She pushed it back from her face with a weary hand.

"Fine," she groused. "I'm up."

He chuckled, pushing himself up into a sitting position beside her, wrapping his arms around her waist and snuggling his head into her shoulder.

"You really aren't a morning person, are you?" he murmured into her hair, pressing a kiss to her neck.

"You knew that before."

"On some level. But this is the first time that I've ever witnessed it for myself. I didn't think you would be quite this bad."

"Well, that was my masterplan all along. Wait until you were tied to me before unleashing the monster within."

"You could never be a monster. Even grumpy, you're the most beautiful woman in the world."

"You have a silver tongue, Mr. Bates," she said.

"John, please," he said. "I know that you're going to have to go back to calling me Mr. Bates in front of the others, but until we step out of this room, I don't want to be anything other than John."

"John," she echoed. His name had never sounded more wonderful falling from anyone's lips. The way her mouth formed it, the way that it sounded in that thick Yorkshire accent…it drove him wild. It was made all the more special for the length of time it had taken her to call him by that name. He had wanted her to do it from the moment that he had proposed. She had nearly always refused, wanting only to say it when she had the right to. Keeping her reputation intact until they were married had been his condition. He supposed that continuing to call him by his formal name until the same time had been hers. He couldn't begrudge her for it, not after what he had put her through over the years. He hugged her closer now, closing his eyes as he breathed in the scent of her skin. He would treasure it until he could hear it again.

"We should get up," he said again at length.

She giggled. "You keep saying that, but you don't seem to be making much progress."

"It's very difficult to," he said, kissing her shoulder once more. "I have spent the night with you. I'd never leave this room again if I didn't have to."

"So let's not," she said. "Let's stay here forever. Or better yet, disappear, just the two of us. We could sneak off tonight and be on the way to a whole new life by morning. And we're married officially in the eyes of the law, so everything would be legal."

It was a tempting prospect, to run and leave all of their problems behind. But, really, would they ever be truly free? Running would suggest his guilt, and they would become wanted. He had no desire to go back to prison, and that seemed the surest way to seal it. No, it would be better all round if they weathered the storm here, surrounded by those who respected them.

"If it came with a guarantee of our peace, then I would love nothing more," he said softly.

"But it doesn't," she finished, seeming to understand. "I know. But it's a fine fantasy to have, don't you think?"

"I do," he agreed, curving his head round so that he could kiss her properly. Slowly. Gently. Pouring every ounce of love he felt into it.

And then he knew that they really did have to leave this bed, otherwise they would run the risk of spoiling everything. With a final sigh, a final kiss pressed to her shoulder, he eased away from her, shuffling to the edge of the bed and scrubbing his fingers through his hair. He would need a lot of pomade this morning in order to make it lay flat. Anna seemed to have had just as much of a fascination with his hair as he had had with hers.

He pushed himself off the mattress and padded around the room, gathering the clothes that they had discarded the night before. They had both mutually decided to arrive in their nightwear, knowing that it was easier to explain their presence if they were caught sneaking out of the servants' quarters, and also for practical reasons here in their marriage room. He found his bottoms first and pulled them on, acutely aware of the way that Anna's gaze had been burning a hole in his back as she stared down at his naked form. He scrounged for his shirt then, and pulled it over his back, buttoning it up before turning back to his wife, so ravishingly beautiful in the marital bed.

"Your turn," he said huskily. "Fair is fair. I get to watch you dress now that you've watched me."

"Cheeky beggar," she giggled, but she looked entirely too pleased with herself as she fought her way out of the sheets, not a speck of self-consciousness about her as she left the warmth behind. He settled himself on the edge of the bed to watch her. However, as she took the few steps across the floor to where her discarded clothes lay, she winced.

"What is it?" he asked her at once, urgent. She shook her head.

"I'm fine," she said resolutely.

But there was a definite stiffness about her as she went about her business, and all thoughts of lust cooled in his veins as he observed her. Sliding back off the end of the bed with a wince of his own, he took her into his arms and forced her to look at him.

"There's something," he said. "Please, Anna, don't lie to me. I'm your husband now. You can tell me anything."

She hesitated for a moment. "Oh, all right. But promise me that you're not going to start fretting over nothing."

"How can I promise that when I don't know what it is that I shouldn't be fretting over?" he shot back.

She tutted, but there was a ghost of a smile around her mouth. "Do you always have such a smart answer for everything?"

"I did learn from the best," he said, leaning in to her. "Now, come on, Mrs. Bates, tell your old husband what's wrong."

"Less of the old, please," she said, bracing her hands against his chest, then relented. "If you must know, I feel a little…sore."

"Sore?" he repeated, puzzled.

Anna rolled her eyes. "Yes."

"But why—" Realisation dawned, and he felt heat rushing into his cheeks. "Oh."

"Yes. Oh."

For a moment, John floundered. It wasn't that he was embarrassed talking about these kinds of things. He wasn't, not really. But he wasn't quite sure how to go about it. It wasn't a conversation he was used to having every day of the week. It would take him a little bit of time to grow into it. "I wasn't—I didn't—"

"No," she said, seeming to read his mind. "You didn't hurt me. How could you even think that with the way that I was carrying on?" Her cheeks turned pink.

"I have seen too many hollow-eyed women with their husbands to be arrogant enough to think that we men always know what women want," he said.

Anna tutted. "You are a silly beggar sometimes, Mr. Bates. John. It was very, very pleasing for me. In truth, it was more pleasing than I had hoped that it could be, especially the first time. As a maid, I heard far too many horror stories about the wedding night. Tales of blood and pain and lying back and thinking of England. It wasn't at all like that for me."

He nodded, only slightly easier for her words. There had been some blood, and there had been some moments of discomfort when he had initially pushed his body into hers, but he had tried to make it as easy for her as possible. He had made it his mission to dedicate his time to preparing her, and he thought he had succeeded rather well; her flesh had dampened beneath his hand, and her unsteady, harsh breaths had indicated that she was very much aroused by what he was doing. She had tensed when he had slid into the welcoming warmth of her body; he had paused to let her adapt to him, and she soon had. Now, however, he felt guilty all over again. His inability to control himself was causing her discomfort in the light of day.

"I'm sorry," he offered.

"You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for. Don't you dare apologise for making us man and wife as we always should have been. It's just a little soreness, that's all. Kind of like when you ride a horse for the first time."

He couldn't help but smile at the image. His dear country lass would know everything about riding a horse.

"Honestly, John," she continued, oblivious to the thoughts in his head, "it's nothing that I can't handle. It will fade."

"I hope so," he murmured.

"Please forget about it," she said as she pulled her nightgown back over her head. "It'll do you no good to keep fretting. I am perfectly well. Now, we should go. It's getting close to dawn. We can't be found away from our beds, otherwise our secret will be out. Not that I would mind in the least if it was. No one could begrudge us a wedding night."

"But it will be easier to wait until Miss Swire's funeral is over," he said, finishing the thought he knew she was having.

"I'll come back up here after breakfast," she said. "We'll be a little bit stretched for time, but Mrs. Hughes has been distracted enough over the last few days not to notice. I'll be able to slip away and put the room back to rights. I'll launder the sheets personally so that no one asks any difficult questions."

"You're a little plotter."

She tipped him a wicked smirk. "What's the point in having wits if you're not going to use them from time to time?"

"You seem to live to outwit me."

"It's so very easy to do," she cooed, and he snorted, bringing her back into the circle of his arms one final time. They exchanged several long, slow, open-mouthed kisses before she pushed him away reluctantly. He understood the gesture. It was time to go. He moved over to the door and poked his head out. Everything around them was silent. Nodding, he let her slip out before him, and she disappeared from his sight like a pale ghost. It would be foolish to follow her straight away, so he gave her a five minute's head start, just in case she was stopped. If they were together, it would mean disaster. At least this way she could feign restlessness.

When he made his own escape, he met no one. It was with relief that he slipped back into the men's quarters and stole back into his room. Only then did he breathe easy. Tiredness overtook him anew as he sank onto the edge of his bed, but there was no time for respite. Only a few minutes later did the knock on his door sound, and he heaved himself back up. He padded over to his mirror and peered at his reflection. He looked pasty and puffy-eyed, the thin red lines veining across the whites of his eyes giving him away. It would be a very, very long day ahead of him, but the thought of Anna's nakedness draped along him would have to keep him going.

He knew that it was more than enough to.

* * *

It was strange to enter the servants' dining hall after the night before and know that as far as they were concerned, nothing momentous had happened, that nothing had shifted the world completely onto its head overnight. They had no idea that while they had been slumbering in their beds, he and Anna had been discovering the joys of one another's bodies for the very first time. They didn't know the way that they had kissed with abandon, how they had touched each other so desperately, wanting to catalogue everything for future reference.

No, life went on as normal.

He slid into his seat, thanking Mrs. Hughes with a tight, tired smile as she poured him a cup of tea alongside her own. She passed it along to him when she had finished, her gaze narrowing.

"You don't look at all well, Mr. Bates," she said. "I hope you're not coming down with something too."

"I don't think so," he said carefully. "I just didn't have a very good night's sleep, that's all."

Mrs. Hughes tutted, as if she didn't quite believe him. He couldn't really blame her. This Spanish Flu had set everyone on edge, especially for the way that it had taken Miss Swire so swiftly, and how Lady Grantham had been so perilously close to death. If Anna had been struck down…no, he couldn't bear to think about it. He would have been a broken mess, unable to function. No one would ever have been able to drag him away from her side.

Thank God that had never come to pass. Thank God she was always so hale and hearty.

John shook his morbid thoughts away and took his first sip of tea. He was being stupid. Why was he dwelling on such dark thoughts after the best day of his life? He turned his mind to other things instead. To the memory of Anna's skin gilded gold in the candlelight, her hair bullion across the pillow. To the remembrance of how he had finally been able to touch her everywhere he had always wanted to, without the restrictive layers between them—his fingertips tingled with the ghostly echo of how silky she had felt. To the way that she had sounded on the brink of her pleasure, her cries soft and full-throated.

"Mr. Bates? Are you _sure_ you're well?"

He shook himself out of his daze to find Mrs. Hughes regarding him with worry etched into every line on her face.

"I'm sure, Mrs. Hughes," he said. "There's nothing ailing me." Unless a lovesick heart counted.

Mrs. Hughes looked as if she wanted to argue more, but at that moment, more of the servants began to filter in, in various states of sleepiness themselves, and thankfully the conversation was stopped. John busied himself with finishing his first cup of tea of the day, then reached out to make himself another one. He needed all the help he could get.

He was halfway through his second cup when Anna appeared in the doorway, one of the last servants to trickle in, as was usual. As much as he had longed to see her immediately, he knew that it had been smart of her not to break with routine. He offered her a smile, which she returned tiredly, and she began to make her way towards him.

Not before Mrs. Hughes took note of her.

"Heavens, girl," she said in alarm. "You don't look well either!"

"What?" she said, freezing in place like a rabbit cornered by the fox.

"You look as if you're coming down with something," said Mrs. Hughes again. "You don't look at all well. You're as pale as the grave."

"Must be my complexion," Anna muttered, steadfastly looking in any direction but his own.

"And you're hollow-eyed," Mrs. Hughes continued, as if she hadn't heard her. "I might get Doctor Clarkson to take a look at you later. He'll be coming up later to assess her ladyship and Mr. Carson."

"There's no need for that!" said Anna, sounding horrified. "Honestly, Mrs. Hughes, I'm as fit as a fiddle. Never felt better. I just didn't have a good night's sleep yesterday, that's all. What with everything that's been going on, I found myself too on edge to rest. It's nothing more than that. I'll keep up with my tasks throughout the day, you'll see."

"What do you think, Mr. Bates?" said Mrs. Hughes, rounding on him, much to his dismay. If he was looking at things objectively, he could see why the housekeeper might think that she was coming down with something. She did look a little bit peaky. Of course, he knew the reason why, and he knew that it was nothing that a good night's sleep tonight wouldn't fix. On the other hand, he could hardly sit there and say that he agreed with Mrs. Hughes, because that would both put Anna in a difficult position and be unduly harsh when he thought that she was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen for everything they had shared that previous night.

"Anna looks perfectly lovely to me," he said staunchly.

Mrs. Hughes tutted. "You would say that. I respect that you're promised and don't want to hurt her feelings, but if you were being truthful and thinking of her wellbeing, then you would agree with me."

"Mrs. Hughes," said Anna and the exasperation in her voice was undeniable, a rather dangerous sign, "I am perfectly well, I promise you. You have absolutely nothing to worry about."

"For God's sake, she knows how she feels," said Miss O'Brien from the other side of the table. It was the first time that she had eaten with them in several days, and the first time she had spoken in the majority of them, too. For the first time since arriving at Downton, John was grateful for her interruption. Whether she meant to or not, she was aiding them.

Mrs. Hughes opened her mouth as if she would like to argue the point, but she must have felt that the lady's maid had been through quite enough in the last few days without stepping into an argument as well, so she gave her the benefit of the doubt and closed her mouth. John saw Anna's shoulders dip in relief, and she scurried to her usual seat between them without another word. He reached for a cup and saucer at once to fix her a cup of tea. At least this extra scrutiny from everyone had encouraged some colour back into her cheeks—she was practically glowing now with the way that everyone was looking at them.

At that moment, Thomas stepped into the servants' hall.

"I've laid the table for breakfast," he said in that superior voice that John disliked so much. He could see what was happening. Thomas was worming his way back into the fold, just as he always did.

"Very good," said Mrs. Hughes, though her tone of voice suggested that she thought it was anything but. "Go and see where Daisy is. We've got another busy day ahead of us and we all need to get a slice of toast and some porridge inside us before we begin."

Thomas inclined his head and went back the way he had come in. A low murmur of conversation started up again. Sensing his opportunity while Mrs. Hughes stirred milk into her own tea, John risked sliding his hand below the line of the table to squeeze Anna's knee. She offered him a sidelong smile without turning to look at him properly. That had been a close call. He just hoped that Mrs. Hughes would be sufficiently distracted throughout the day picking up the pieces of the last few days to pick up her line of enquiry where they were concerned.

* * *

"Ah, Bates, there you are."

When he entered, John found his lordship sitting on the end of his bed in the dressing room. The sheets were still pristine. Lord Grantham had evidently moved back into the room with his wife. John was glad about that. It meant that Lady Grantham really was on the road to making a full recovery, and while it had been a necessary evil for them to sleep apart during the worst of it, he had had an unsettling feeling deep in his gut, like there was something that his lordship had pulled back from at the last possible moment. He had a few ideas of his own, but he did not like to give them much agency. The less he thought of them, the better it would be for everyone. Besides, the implication was clear: whatever he had almost walked in on unwittingly the other night was best forgotten. It was what he intended to do.

"I'm sorry for the delay, your lordship," he said now, pulling his thoughts away from that place.

Lord Grantham waved his hand. "No matter. I know the servants are working flat out at the minute with so many people still recovering. It's to be expected." The words hung heavy between them, with the loss of Miss Swire still so raw. "In fact, dear fellow, you're not looking so well yourself. You're not coming down with anything, are you? It took Carson out of nowhere, though thankfully he is making a full recovery."

John sighed internally. "I'm perfectly well, milord. I had a poor night's respite, nothing more. It's nothing that I'm not used to, and it's nothing that I can't handle."

Lord Grantham's eyes took on a faraway look. "Well, I understand what you mean there."

John doubted he did. Since the Boers, he had spent most of his life in fits of broken sleep, the horrors still creeping up on him during the night's darkest hours. Lord Grantham had never had the same experience. Many of the most horrific incidents had been sheltered from his sight, and John knew that from his former comrade's reaction to this war he had never had the same flashbacks because if he had he would never have felt such a longing to be a part of it all again. But he said nothing now, merely inclined his head. He was too tired to be sucked into any debate like that. Lord Grantham, thank God, seemed content with his answer, and John was allowed to dress him in silence. When that was completed, his lordship left for breakfast. As soon as the door snapped closed behind him, John scrubbed his hands over his face, offering himself a wry grin in Lord Grantham's mirror. He would probably have to put up with these kinds of comments all day, but it would be worth it for the secrets that he and Anna shared. God, it would be more than worth it.

* * *

The day ground on and on. Several times, in duller periods, John caught himself nodding off over his mending. He had decided that taking himself off to an unused room to work alone would be the best suggestion, but after catching himself on the brink of laying his head on the table and snoring for England for the third time, he was seriously rethinking his course of action. Perhaps it would be better to be in the heart of the action. Even if it meant that he was subject to yet more scrutiny about his health, it might help to keep him awake.

Resigned, he stood up, gathered his things together, and made his way back to the servants' hall. He had just turned in to the final corner when the door to the boot room opened ahead of him, and Anna's golden head ducked out. His heart skipped a beat at the unexpected sight of her.

"Anna!" he called, though it was needless; as soon as she heard his cane clacking against the floor, she span round, an equally large smile on her own face.

"Hello," she said shyly as he approached. "I was wondering where you were."

He held up his arm to show the supplies he carried. "I thought it might be a good idea to take myself away to get some mending done. I was wrong."

She arched an eyebrow. "Why?"

He leaned conspiratorially closer, his mouth just brushing the top of her ear. "Because I find myself on the brink of sleep every time. I was worn out by a faery-like creature in the night, and it's catching up with me now."

Quick as ever, Anna said cheekily, "That's nothing less than you deserve, straying with a faery."

He ought to have known that she'd have a smart reply. Rolling his eyes and yet standing as close to her as he dared, he muttered, "And you, my darling? How are you feeling?"

"Right as rain," she said. "Though I have had to take a break from cleaning Lady Edith's shoes. The sound of the brush against the leather was sending me straight to sleep. So I think we're as bad as each other."

"Indeed," he mused. Glancing around to ensure that they were still completely alone, he murmured, "And…and the other…?"

A pink tinge spilled into her cheeks. "I'm fine, Mr. Bates. John," she amended quickly, smiling.

But as they walked along, he noted that she was still walking a little stiffly.

"Are you sure?" he persisted.

Anna stopped them again with a huff of exasperation. "Really, it's _fine_. In any case, there's nothing that can be done about it, so there's no point fretting."

"But perhaps something _could_ have been done. If I'd been gentler, or—"

"Mr. Bates," she hissed. "Please, be quiet. I didn't want it any different to how it was. It was wonderful. It'll settle down soon. It's the burden that we women have to bear."

It seemed so strange to John, that women should have to suffer so. How was it right that something that was so pleasurable for a man right from the beginning was uncomfortable for the women that they shared it with? All right, so Anna hadn't said that it was uncomfortable, and he kept reminding himself that she had definitely enjoyed it last night to stop himself from panicking full-out, but even so.

Anna was right in the sense that what was done was done now, and there was little that could be done to change it. But that didn't mean that he couldn't ensure that she was feeling comfortable. She was his wife now. That meant that it was legal for him to worry about her, to care for her ailments. He was determined to use his newfound position for good.

* * *

After luncheon, he fetched his mending again and set to work. He had always found this kind of menial work soothing. Some people would probably not understand that. But he liked the way that it gave him something to do, something to focus his mind on.

As usual, his mind was on Anna.

He wondered how long he needed to wait since she had risen from the table before it would be deemed acceptable to run in to her somewhere. He would have to handle it carefully, of course. She would likely be exasperated that he was hovering around her like a worried nurse, but he didn't care. All he could focus his mind on was how uncomfortable she had seemed at several points, how he had caught her shifting her position subtly at luncheon. She wouldn't like him fussing over her, but she didn't have a choice. If she wanted to fuss over him, then she ought to expect the same treatment in return.

He deemed that ten minutes was long enough, and as soon as that time was up, he set down his needle.

"I'm just going to go and get a drink," he announced as casually as he could to the room. "I shan't be long. I have a bit of a headache, I'm afraid. A powder might be just the ticket."

No one stirred; likely no one cared. He was glad for that now as he pushed himself to his feet and limped off in the direction of the kitchen. That was a complete contrast to the servants' hall; maids buzzed around the place like busy bees, checking on dishes here, slicing vegetables there. Mrs. Patmore supervised it all, as red in the face as usual.

"What are you doing in here?" she barked.

"I've come for a powder," he said, hoping that his voice sounded innocent. "I've got a headache."

"Oh," said Mrs. Patmore, losing interest. "Well, you'd better not be really ill. I've lost enough of the kitchen maids as it is without any more of them getting afflicted. Keep yourself well away from here, you hear me?"

"Yes, Mrs. Patmore," he said meekly. "May I have some water?"

She tutted as if he was asking her to make a five course banquet to be served in the next hour. "Oh, very well. Here, give that to me. I'll be quicker."

He surrendered it gladly, and waited for her to finish before he bowed his head towards her and thanked her. With that, he limped out of the kitchen and went in search of his wife. He knew that she was somewhere about below stairs.

As she was before luncheon, she was in the boot room, resuming the scrubbing of the shoes she had been huffing about before. He poked his head around the doorframe and found that they were completely alone. That was good. He moved further inside.

She glanced up at him, a small, lovingly exasperated smile on her face. "What is it this time, Mr. Bates?"

He held up the cup containing the powder for her to see. "I thought this might be of some help to you."

"I've not got a headache," she said.

"Well, no. I thought it might help with…other aches."

She blinked at him, crimson flooding her cheeks. "You've…you've made me a powder for…?"

"Yes," he said quickly. "I thought it might be a good idea. I hate to see you in pain. It might take the edge off it a little."

She huffed at him. "I do wish that you'd stop going on about that. I've told you: I'm _fine_. Why is that not enough?"

"It is," he said. "I just hate the idea that I've caused you discomfort in some way, even if it's not avoidable and even if you don't think it's my fault. I love you so much, Anna. The last thing that I ever want to do is cause you pain."

She softened a little at that. "You are horribly sentimental, you know that, don't you?"

"Only when it comes to you," he whispered. "I promise, everything I do for the rest of my life will be solely for you, to make you happy, to make up for everything that I've put you through since we met."

"You don't need to do anything of the sort," she said firmly. "Love is about endurance. Love is about standing strong with someone through everything. I don't begrudge a single thing that's happened. I would do it all again, all the same, if it meant that we would always be together."

God, how had he been so lucky as to find someone like Anna? What on earth had he done to make her fall in love with him? John didn't have the foggiest idea. But he knew that for as long as he lived, he would try his best to be worthy of her. That was all he wanted.

"Give that here," she said. "I'll drink it if it'll make you feel better."

"It would," he said.

She rolled her eyes and tutted, but held her hands out for the glass all the same. He handed it off to her, and leaned against the table as she took her first gulp, shuddering.

"I must really love you to put myself through this," she said.

"I should hope you love me after the secrets we have now," he said, offering her a smirk.

"What secrets are these?"

At the sound of Mrs. Hughes' voice, they both jumped; Anna almost dropped the glass. John wheeled around, feeling the colour rising up his neck. Damn.

Mrs. Hughes stood behind them, arms folded across her chest, eyebrow raised. She was clearly waiting for a reply.

"Mrs. Hughes!" Anna squeaked. "We didn't see you there."

"Evidently not," she said drolly. "Otherwise you wouldn't have been talking about your secrets, would you? Now, come on, out with it. You know we do not permit secrets in this house."

Which was an absurd thing to say, John thought. There were secrets at every turn in this house.

"I'm afraid I can't say, Mrs. Hughes," he said carefully. "If I did, I'd be breaching a sacred oath. You wouldn't want that, would you?"

"I would if it meant that I knew what the secret was," the housekeeper replied. "Anna is under my charge, as you well know, Mr. Bates."

"It's not about Anna," he said promptly. "Anna shares it with me, but it's not about _us_."

"Then what?"

He cast his mind about wildly. "It's about Thomas. About what he's doing."

"Which is?"

"Trying to insinuate himself back into the house. I didn't think anyone else could see it."

Mrs. Hughes gave him a scornful look, as if she thought he was simple. "The whole household sees _that_ , Mr. Bates."

"Which is what I was trying to tell him," Anna piped up. "But he won't listen to me."

"Well, you should. Believe me, Mr. Bates, we're all _very_ aware of what Thomas is trying to do. But what can we do about it now?" She sighed, opening her arms. "He _has_ been an enormous help over the last few days. I'm not really sure what we would have done without him. He's tried to make himself indispensable, and he's succeeded. How can we turn him out into the night after this? It would be most ungenerous. We _are_ in need of a footman now that the war is over, and he's in the perfect position to return to his old post."

"Even after all of the lording he did over not being a servant anymore," said John, and he couldn't quite help the tinge of bitterness in his tone. How was it that Thomas always landed on his feet? He was like a cat with nine lives.

"And are you feeling ill, Anna?" said Mrs. Hughes now, catching him out with the swift change of subject.

Anna blinked, then looked down at the glass in her hands. "Oh. No, Mrs. Hughes."

"I don't think you'd be drinking that if that was the case."

"Truly, Mrs. Hughes, I'm fine," she said hastily, placing down the glass. "I was only drinking it to satisfy Mr. Bates here."

"It's true," John said, feeling that he ought to fall on his sword for her. "It's my fault."

"You were singing quite a different tune when I raised my concerns this morning," said Mrs. Hughes, her gaze still narrowed in suspicion.

"I know. I didn't want to make a scene, that's all," John replied, thinking fast. "But this whole Spanish Flu business has made me overly cautious. I'm sorry."

The housekeeper's eyes softened at that. "It gave everyone quite a fright. I don't suppose I can hold it against you for worrying about your loved ones. But let Anna get on now, Mr. Bates. I'm sure she's got enough to do without you henning around her."

Anna smirked at that. Chastened, John dipped his head.

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes," he said. She nodded, and was graceful enough to slip out ahead of him, giving them a few more seconds alone.

Anna reached out and twined their fingers together as soon as the housekeeper's skirts had swished around the door.

"Silly beggar," she whispered affectionately, reaching up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. He tingled in that spot.

"I am," he agreed. "I'm _your_ silly beggar, Mrs. Bates."

She giggled at that, risking one chaste kiss on the mouth, which he welcomed with shameful enthusiasm—when he was with her like this, he felt like a young man all over again.

"Yes," she agreed. "Mine."

With one last kiss, she sent him on his way, a very happy man.

* * *

The rest of the day passed in a haze. The longer it drew on, the harder it was for him to keep his eyes open. Every bone in his body ached in the most delicious way. He thought longingly of retiring for the night, but it wasn't without a touch of remorse. Tonight, he would not be joined by Anna. They would be forced back into their separate quarters, to spend the night apart. He had not yet had the luxury of sleeping beside his wife, but he knew that it would be a glorious event. To feel the heat of slumber pressing down on him with the warm weight of her body pressed to his own, the reassurance that he would wake to her face…all of it was more than he could possibly bear.

God, he hoped that it wouldn't be far off in his future. He hoped that the police would give up their case against him, that they could finally move on free from the dark clouds that had shadowed them for so long. He was ready to live life to the full for the first time in years. Anna had made him see that it was possible.

Later on in the afternoon, he sought Anna out again, both for his own peace of mind and for the fact that he missed her. He knew that it exacerbated her that he should fuss over her so, but he couldn't help it.

God, what would he be like if they were ever blessed with a child?

The thought was one that he didn't dare to dwell on but it brought an unconscious smile to his lips. He would be a wreck through childbirth, but Anna would see it as one of those necessary evils, and the prize would be more than worth it.

"Mr. Bates," she hissed at him the third time he popped his head in on her while she worked, "will you stop that!?"

"I'm just checking you're all right!" he protested.

She put her hands on her hips, and he knew he was in trouble. "Well, stop it! Every time I've seen Mrs. Hughes, she's given me the most frightful look. I think she'll have me in the office by the end of the day if you don't stop bothering me, giving me a roasting for your frisking round my skirts."

"I'm not frisking round your skirts!" he protested.

She shot him a sinful smirk that sent a bolt of heat right through his insides. "That's not strictly the truth, is it?"

He blushed.

"I mean it, though," she continued. "Keep your distance, at least until we can meet up in the courtyard after dinner. It's suspicious enough that we both look like we're going to keel over right into our dinners. We shouldn't give Mrs. Hughes any more reason to scrutinise us."

"All right," he conceded. He knew she was right, but it was so hard to keep away from her when they had shared what they had. Still, he had to stop fretting. Anna had never been a delicate little blossom, likely to break at the softest of touches. She was strong and hardy, like a beautiful snowdrop. He was doing her a disservice.

Determined to prove that he could be casual, he pressed a quick kiss to her cheek and slipped away.

* * *

And, finally, the end of a very long day came into sight. John guessed that in the next hour he would finally be able to lay down his weary head. He couldn't wait for it.

He had stepped outside into the courtyard just for a brief moment of solitude. The haze of cigarette smoke was making his head ache and his eyes throb. The fresh air would do a world of good in clearing his head.

It also meant that he could spend the time with Anna, alone. She made no secret of following him outside, and they settled themselves in the furthest and most private corner that the courtyard had to offer. Anna ducked into his arms and he pulled her close to him, sighing as he finally relaxed. God, it had been too long since he had last been permitted to hold her. After everything that had shifted so monumentally between them, he didn't think he would be able to go any length of time without touching her again. She seemed to feel the same way; she ran her hands up and down his chest and hooked his mouth into a kiss that quite frankly left him breathless. She did not let him ease back for a very long time, and when she did it was only so that she could press her cheek to his chest and breathe in deeply.

"This is nice," she murmured.

"It is," he agreed, looking down at where her hands were pressed to his chest. He couldn't wait for the moment when she would be able to wear her wedding ring with pride.

"I'll admit, I can't wait for the girls to ring tonight," she said, looking up at him from beneath her lashes. "I wish we could be together…"

"…But we need the sleep," he finished for her, caressing her hips to let her know that he wasn't hurt by her thought process. "And I've a feeling that we wouldn't be doing much sleeping again if we _were_ together."

"Precisely," she said, blushing. "I fear that I'll keel over if I have to go too much longer without getting my head down."

"It'll do us good, anyway," he said. "It'll give you some time to…recover. And I have to admit, even though I've always been a bit of an insomniac, it will be nice to put my head on the pillow tonight. Lord Grantham has been very suspicious of me all day." The dressing for dinner had brought another series of questions, because apparently now he looked worse than ever.

"So have Lady Edith and Lady Sybil," said Anna. "Thankfully, Lady Mary helped cover for me."

"That was kind of her." He was glad to see that their bond had evolved and deepened into a staunch loyalty to each other. John did not know Lady Mary particularly well, but from some of the things that he'd heard about her, she wasn't always the gentlest of people, so he was glad that she was good to Anna.

"It was," Anna agreed. "Though it was a little embarrassing too." She ducked her head, heat spilling into her cheeks.

"How do you mean?" he said, though he thought he had a vague idea.

"Lady Mary did ask me some rather personal questions," she said in a low voice. "I didn't think she'd bring it up, but she did. I mean, I knew that she knew about us sharing that room, but I didn't think we'd ever talk about it."

John felt heat flooding his own cheeks at the inference. Good God. He would rather not think about Lady Mary knowing exactly what he and Anna had been up to in that guest bedroom last night…

"I see," he choked.

"Yes," Anna continued, redder than ever, "she seemed very interested in…in how it was supposed to be."

John knew that there had been indiscretions with Mr. Pamuk, but he had no wish to dwell on what Lady Mary might have done with him. He didn't need Anna to carry on talking to understand what Lady Mary had been asking her. She'd questioned her on what it had been like. Had perhaps compared it in her head to the experience she had had. He knew that Anna would not have said too much, more out of the social line that stopped them from being true friends, but it was embarrassing to think about nevertheless. At least she had reassured him that it had been very enjoyable for her, which would at least mean that his skills wouldn't be debated on too much.

"Well…I suppose it's only natural," he managed. "Young people are always interested in things that they ought to know nothing about."

"I was always curious," Anna confessed. "I knew things, of course—you hear all sorts as a maid, even if the housekeepers would rather think differently—but I longed for the day that I would have first-hand experience. You made it perfect for me. Thank you."

"I'm sure the pleasure was mine too," he murmured, nuzzling against her, and she angled her head so that they could kiss each other again.

"Anna, Mr. Bates? Are you out here?"

Mrs. Hughes' voice broke them out of their intimate silence, and they pulled away from each other. Anna patted down her hair.

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes," she called out.

"Well, come back inside, please. Lord Grantham and Lady Edith have rung. And then I don't want to see you back downstairs again tonight when you're finished. Go straight to bed. You look like you need it."

Neither of them could argue there. Knowing that they couldn't linger any longer now that Mrs. Hughes was waiting for them to emerge, they exchanged one last kiss before stepping away from each other. When they moved back into the housekeeper's line of vision, they were the perfect picture of decorum once more, the appropriate distance away from each other. No one would ever guess how dramatically their lives had changed in the last day.

Mrs. Hughes stood back to let them pass, and they did so. John nodded at her.

"Goodnight, Mrs. Hughes," he said.

"Goodnight," she replied. He led Anna a little further down the passage and turned to her one last time.

"Sweet dreams, my darling," he whispered.

"The very sweetest," she promised him. She glanced quickly over her shoulder, likely ensuring that Mrs. Hughes was busy locking up before she leaned in to whisper, "Dream of me, John."

His mouth went dry. "I won't be able to do anything else."

She tipped him a little wink, then slipped past him. He watched her go. She was still walking a little stiffly, but he no longer felt guilty. She had told him that it had been worth everything, and he finally believed her. With a little shake of his head, he followed her.

True to his word, he went to sleep that night and dreamed of her, the only woman that would ever own his heart. There were still troubles to come, but for now he was content and unafraid.


End file.
